Bared
by Aslana
Summary: Andrew feels it. slash. Andrew/omc.


Notes: Going on the thought that the remaining Scoobs and newbs went to Oxnard after the series finale. Some of the ex-Potentials have died, others have left, and still others remain with the Scoobies. The original character is just in Andrew's mind.

Notes2: Betaed by Calia, Kris, Sopie, and Jericho. All betas can do is suggest corrections, any and all mistakes are my own.

~*~

The tie is like satin, which makes Andrew all the more happy to have found it; it feels so smooth on his skin. It is a pale robin's egg/skyish blue that reminds him of a picture of a glacier he found in a National Geographic (before high school, when life sucked, but he was completely oblivious to how reality based his fear of the boogey man could be.)

Andrew likes to review small details about the tie. He's sure it once completed a lingerie and robe ensemble made of the same soft, welcoming material. He found it in an odds and ends bin at the only open shop on Main Street when they rolled into Oxnard. Andrew does not like to think about what the kindly old woman, who thought he was buying the tie for one of the numerous girls on the bus he rode into town on, would say about him if she knew why he purchased the lonely strip of material.

Sunnydale had been a small town, but not to the extent of Oxnard. Oxnard did not even have a teen hang out unless you counted the convenience store with exorbitant prices; the girls swore they were not *that* desperate for peer interaction, but everyone of the adults, which somehow (to his surprise) included Andrew, heard the silent "yet" tailing the girls' denials.

Andrew tried to push this thought out of his conscious mind. Xander would be gone for only a few hours, and Andrew hoped to air out the bus before his older friend returned. There wasn't enough money for everyone to sleep in the local roachpit, even when several people shared a room; the six younger adults took alternating weeks sleeping in the aisle or crunched up in the seats of their very large vehicle.

Quietly, quickly, efficiently, with little ceremony, Andrew wraps the tie around his twig wrists and knots the material so that when he tugs the correct way later, it will come undone easily. Andrew will never be able to face the others if they see him like this, or see the remains of the activity.

Andrew takes a steadying breath and reminds himself that everything will be okay. Half the girls remaining with the group (Andrew didn't think about those lost in the fighting, but every night sent a well-wishing to the girls sleeping in their own beds, in their own homes) already had gone to their rented rooms for the night, being watched over by Faith and Mr. Wood. The rest of the girls were patrolling with Buffy and Willow. Mr. Giles would keep Xander busy with what the Watcher called re-adjustment therapy, training Xander to deal with his remaining eye and gently prodding him to talk about Anya.

Twisting his body to the left and levering it with his bound hands, Andrew manages to change his position from cross-legged sitting to lying on his stomach. He stretched his hands outward, away from his head; his fingers grasp the blankets of his pallet. Andrew finds comfort in his own scent clinging to the blankets; the smell makes the bedding remind him of safety and stability and all sorts of things home never meant to him.

Slowly, Andrew brings images to mind, pictures he stores away in a special, guarded part of his mind. Ritchie, with his dark hair and light eyes and penchant for silent, perfect orders. Ritchie had taken care of Andrew and made the blond feel loved for the first time ever in his life; Andrew had held onto that love until Ritchie's parents moved him to a sunnier dale that had a lower unexplainable fatality rate.

Andrew imagines Ritchie's hands, wide and long-fingered, in his hair, pushing his head down, and then Andrew rubs his lower body against the blankets, through his cotton boxers. Another moment, and Andrew cannot help but blush at the remembrances; Ritchie taught him so many bad, nasty things that feel so good and smiled so sweetly when Andrew accomplished a new trick or proved a greater level of trust in Ritchie.

Only a year's difference, but Ritchie had been so much more worldly and Andrew had been captivated. Ritchie had known it, but never used that knowledge to hurt Andrew; instead, Ritchie had given Andrew more pleasure than the younger blond had ever known.

Andrew remembers the small marks of ownership Ritchie loved to so delicately bestow; Andrew craves those scratches and bruises and bites once more. The pumping of his hips becomes harsher, quicker as he thinks about how Ritchie would push him onto the floor and pin him. Andrew loves the feeling of strong thighs capturing his hips and stopping his wriggling, loves the exchange of power, not having to make decisions, not being confused, knowing how to follow. Mostly, Andrew loves being loved.

He rushes to completion and delicious, little whimpers escape from the very back of his throat. Andrew allows his memories to overtake his body, thinks about how Ritchie would drive his body to the brink and hold him there, calling and pleading for permission to orgasm. His lover would wait until Andrew felt he could not possibly control his body any longer before Ritchie would whisper into his ear, "Come."

Andrew's body reacts to the single word whispered in his mind and thrusts once more into his blankets. Spent, Andrew collapses and pants in short breaths, trying to recover. He dreamily ignores the harsher facts of life (someone might come by...everything's a mess, a sticky mess...) for the ebbing pleasures padding his mind (he loved me... can't leave me anymore... love this feeling...).

Eventually, Andrew gathers energy enough to begin his clean up. He tugs with his teeth at the material binding his hands until it releases; he is careful to fold the tie and bury it beneath the rest of his possessions in his duffel bag. Andrew then stands and moves to the windows of the bus, opening every other one. He spreads the blankets of his pallet across the tops of the seats so air can circulate through them, hopefully alleviating the scent of sweat and sex from them.

Finally, when the bus is presentable, he slips off of it and sneaks into the room Buffy and Willow share to shower and change his clothing. When he peals the jeans off of his lower torso and hips, Andrew allows himself to sigh because of the relief from the damp denim. And when he steps into the hot spray and leans onto the cool tile of the shower, Andrew allows himself to sob because of the pain of loss.


End file.
